One Day
by Simon920
Summary: Recovering from an injury at home, Horatio receives Matthews and Styles when they return his seachest.


Title: One Day

Author: Simon

Characters: HH/Matthews/Styles/ OC

Rating: PG

Summary: Horatio's sea chest is delivered to his home wile he recovers from an injury. Background and choices are discussed.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

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"Aye this looks like the place. They said the gray stone house with the black door and the rose trellis climbing over the side. Come on."

"Well, we shouldn't just be knockin at the front door like his Lordship. It ain't right. There must be a back entrance or something."

"Aye, I suppose. Put that thing down and we'll just have a look around the side here."

The two men followed the path around to the side door of the home. It seemed to be exceptionally well maintained for a second entrance. Knocking at the door, they waited a few moments before it was answered by a tall, thin gentleman in his shirtsleeves. He seemed preoccupied about something.

"Yes, may I help you?" The two rough looking men seemed startled to see him.

"Beggin your pardon, sir, we were looking for Lieutenant Hornblower. We've been sent to deliver…"

"Yes, fine. Please go about to the other side of the house. You'll find the kitchen entrance over there. Someone will help you. If you'll excuse me, I've a patient at the moment." The door closed. Exchanging a look, the men made their way about to the opposite side of the building, carrying the chest with them. They were about to knock at what appeared to be the kitchen door when the taller one spoke to his friend. "I hope we don't get another this one slammed in our faces. I wouldn't want to have to go back and report that to the Captain."

"Too right you are, there, mate." The smaller man knocked, waited a minute and knocked again. There was no response. Looking at one another, they started around to the back of the house in search of the promised someone to help them when they were startled by the loud and fierce barking of a medium sized mongrel with some resemblance to a beagle. Though the animal kept her distance, it was clear that she was raising a warning. From behind a high hedge they heard a woman's voice.

"What, in the name of God is it that you'd be barking at now, you silly dog?" An elderly, small and decidedly heavyset woman came around the brush, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Yes, gentlemen, may I help you?"

Nodding their heads to her, the smaller man spoke. "Excuse us for barging in like this, M'am, we're looking for Lieutenant Hornblower. We're from his ship, y'see, and we have some of his things here for him. Would you know where we might find him?"

"You've come all the way from Portsmouth, have you? Aren't you darlins to do that for the lad? You'll find him right down that path that goes into the back garden. Oh. Lord, what am I thinking? Follow me, I'll show you." The dog had by now retreated under a bush and was reduced to mere growling. She was ignored with a "Pay no mind to that animal. Afraid of her own shadow, she is. Look at her and she'd turn tail."

"Beggin your pardon, M'am, but would you be Mrs. Hornblower, then?"

They were walking to the back garden as they spoke. "Me? Lord, no. I'm just the housekeeper around here. But I did lend a hand in raising that boy when he was a wee one and after his sainted mother passed on. She was love, that one and he's as like her as a pea in a pod. Smart as a whip and sharp as a tack, the both of them. Ah, here you are."

They rounded a bend and saw the Lieutenant sitting on a blanket spread beside a willow tree on the bank of a stream that was lazily moving past. He had his back resting against a pillow propped at the base of the trunk and had a book held on his knees. Hearing them approach, he looked up.

"My God, Matthews, Styles! You are quite literally the last people on earth I expected to see today. What brings you here?"

Smiling and knuckling their foreheads to their officer, they were as excited to see him as boys are to see the carnival come to town.

"The Captain asked us to bring your sea chest back to you, sir, he was afraid that you might be missing some of the things in it, y'see." A shadow seemed to cross the officer's face at the comment.

"It's good to see you two again. Have you eaten? No? Rose, might you be able to find something for these men?"

"Oh, any old thing is fine, M'am, we eat whatever is put before us, really we do."

"Well, I'll see if I can do better than 'any old thing', if you don't mind." She returned up the path with a mission.

"You've made her day for her, she has someone to feed." Hornblower was smiling. "It's good of you to come all this way with the chest. How long has Indy been in port?"

"Five days, sir. We'd have been here sooner, but we had to help with the repairs, y'see."

They noticed that he made no effort to stand, not that he would have a reason to stand for the likes of them, but he was awfully thin. He was never what you would call a heavyweight, but he looked as though a strong breeze would blow him away.

"Repairs? Was Indy damaged?"

Styles spoke up. "Ah, it weren't nothing, sir. Just some storm damage, a few spars came down was all, and a bit or the railing was torn off. We've got it all fixed up now. How are you feelin, sir, if you don't mind my askin?"

"Better, thank you, much better. I'm stronger each day."

Matthews and Styles exchanged a look. Proof to the contrary, the Lieutenant looked thin, pale and weak as a kitten.

He had been leading his division on a small expedition to get fresh water for the Indefatigable when an unexpected noise had alerted some shore guards on the French coast. One of his men, a new recruit named Cooper, had been killed. Lieutenant Hornblower had been shot in his right shoulder attempting to pull the body of the sailor into the jolly boat for return to the ship. The bullet had been removed, but a subsequent infection had necessitated his return to England for further medical treatment and convalescence. He had been recovering at his father's home in Kent for the last three months.

"Any idea when you might be able to return to the Indy, sir?"

The shadow crossed his face again, though he attempted a small smile. "Soon, I hope, Styles."

"Is this where you grew up, sir? It's nice around here. Quiet, like."

"Yes, Matthews, this is it. I actually didn't spend all that much time here after I started school, but this is where I was born."

"That must have been your Da then who answered the first door we tried. You favor him, beggin your pardon, sir."

Hornblower passed over this observation without comment. "You must have gone around to his surgery. He was saying something about some sort of emergency being brought in this afternoon."

Matthews saw the look on Hornblower's face, had noticed it as soon as he had seen them. "There's nothing to worry about us bringin your chest, sir. The Captain said to be sure to tell you that he expects it back aboard before long."

Attempting a smile, the Lieutenant just nodded, but the men could see that he was pretty discouraged about being away so long. Well, who could blame him? It seemed nice here, that it did, but Mr. Hornblower was made for walking the deck of a ship, not sitting about doing nothing. Matthews was just about to say something to try to cheer the lad up a bit when that nice housekeeper came back down the path.

"If you two would come with me, I've managed to find enough to fill a couple of plates for you."

"Rosie, forgive me. This Mr. Matthews and Mr. Styles from the Indefatigable. Men, this is Mrs. Carey." The two sailors couldn't help but notice that Mr. Hornblower still didn't stand, even for a nice lady like this one. She was taking a sharp look at him.

"Are you warm enough sitting there on that cold ground? You look to me like you could use a good meal your self and then a nice long nap, if you don't mind my saying so."

He gave her a tired smile. They likely had this conversation ten times a day. "Rosie, I'm fine. I'll just rest here while these men eat. I'll likely fall asleep here while you're gone."

Her hands on her ample hips, she gave him a long look. "Well, you just see that you do sleep. You need it." Turning to the men who both towered over her, she addressed them as though they were five years old. "You two come with me, and you'll be washing your hands before you sit at my table, and make no mistake about that."

Hornblower smiled, but it was obvious that he loved the old woman. "You'd better do as she says. Believe me, she ranks you."

"You've done exactly whatever you wanted from the time you were able to walk and you know it. Mind you get some more sleep while these two are havin their meal. Oh, for the love of God, catching your death you will if it weren't for me." She picked up another blanket from where it was folded beside the trunk, opened it and spread it across the young man. "Now, you sleep." He smiled at her as she turned back to the house, the two sailors having no choice but to follow behind.

"Oh, Lordy, I almost plumb forgot. The Captain said to be sure you got this letter 'e sent you, sir, beggin your pardon." He dug in his pocket to produce the somewhat grimy folded and sealed paper. Horatio recognized the captain's handwriting and crest in the wax and thanked the men, tearing open the paper as they left.

A few minutes later, hands washed and dried, they were seated at the kitchen table surveying the mounded plates Rosie had set before them. A brief inventory showed they each had half a cold roast chicken, cold potatoes, carrots and mushy peas. Beside each place was a tankard of ale.

"Now you eat all of that, you hear me? I'm getting right tired of having plates returned to me with just a few nibbles taken from them like I get from his nibs." She softened when she spoke of Hornblower, despite her harsh words. "He really is a darlin, though. I can't deny that. Gave us quite a fright, I don't mind telling you, he did. Pale as dishwater and weak as a new born lamb ever since he got back here."

Matthews and Styles exchanged a look. "He's getting better, though, isn't he M'am? I mean, beggin you pardon, he looked right peaked to me just now. Not that I mean any disrespect, you understand."

"He still has a ways to go, and that's no lie."

"But he's gettin better, right?"

"Yes, that he is, but it's takin so long that I think that the poor lad is about to wring his hands with it." She busied herself about the kitchen, cleaning up from the preparation of their meal as they ate. After a few minutes of silence, other than their chewing and swallowing, she cleared her throat a bit and, placing large slabs of an apple cake before each of them, asked them what was on her mind.

"Master Horatio, how is he doin on that ship? Is he all right? I do worry about the lad so. I ask him, but all he ever says is that I'm not to worry, but I always do. Ever since he was up to my knees, I've been worrying about that one, always takin things so serious, always working so hard. He'll wear himself out while he's still young, he will."

Matthews spoke up, between bites. "Oh, m'am, he's the best thing on the ship, everyone knows that. Even the Captain is always talking about how far he'll go and how he's always coming up with good ideas and the like. That's the truth."

"You know, with him not on the ship, almost seems like there's something missing on the old girl."

"He had friends, then has he? I just worry about him so. He was forever going up to that room of his with a book and just disappearing for hours and hours on end. Days would pass with him hardly saying two words, just his nose buried in some dusty old book. Him and his father, just alike, that way."

"Well, he still keeps to himself, you know. I don't mean that he's unfriendly like, he just plays things close to his chest." Styles reached to cut himself another piece of the cake. Rosie beat him to it, handing him another large slab.

Rosie looked at the two men sitting at her table, finally asking them what she really wanted to know. "If anything should happen to that lad, I don't know that his father could ever put something like that behind him, I truly don't think that he could." She poured them each another tankard of ale. "I know that what you gentlemen do is dangerous, but he's going to come back, isn't he? If he goes back on that boat again, he'll be all right?"

She was pleading with them to tell her that all would be well. Styles looked at his plate, unwilling to hurt the kind woman asking for his reassurance.

Matthews spoke up. "M'am, we'll keep an eye on him for you, you mark my words on that. The lads on the Indy wouldn't let anything happen to that one, and that's the truth. He's our good luck charm, you see. He's the one who brings us luck."

"But he was shot…"

"That was something that shouldn't have happened, and that's a fact. He'll be fine from here on, you'll see, M'am."

"…When I was tending to him, before, when he was still so sick, I saw a scar on his other shoulder. His father said it was a bullet scar. An old one. He never told us about that. I thought that I'd like to die when I saw that, and his father—I've never seen him so upset. Then the lad refused to really tell us what had happened. Just kept saying that it wasn't anything and that it was best forgotten."

The two men exchanged a look. "Well, that really weren't all that much, M'am. It was only through the shoulder and it healed up just fine, no problem. You shouldn't be all that concerned about that."

"Do you gentlemen know? You must know what happened to him about that. You'll tell me, won't you?"

Styles and Mathews exchanged a look. If Mr. Hornblower didn't tell his family, they shouldn't say anything about that duel with that devil Simpson. This poor lady would just become even more upset if she knew. Women were like that.

"Well, it was just a little disagreement he had with one of the other Mid's, M'am. It was hardly anything. No one even remembers it anymore."

"He fought a duel, didn't he? I asked him, but he wouldn't tell me. That's it, I'll bet." She was looking at the two of them as though they were lads late home for supper. They knew they hadn't a chance.

Mathews was the one who answered. "Well, yes M'am, it was, but it was the right thing to do. Really it was and you've my word on that. He was a bad man, one who needed killing, if you don't mind my saying so. What Mr. Hornblower did was right. Even the Captain knew that."

"Horatio killed a man?" Her hand was covering her mouth, her eyes horrified. "He's always been such a gentle lad, so kind. His mother raised him to be that way. If she knew that he'd taken life and that he'd been shot twice, she'd be beside herself."

"Now, M'am…He didn't really do the killin, y'see. The Captain saw what was going on—Mr. Simpson fired early; that's how Mr. Hornblower was hurt in the first place and well, the Captain did the honor himself and it was quite a shot if you don't mind my saying so. Quite a shot, indeed."

"Does his father know this? Would that Captain have written to let him know that Horatio had been injured?"

The two sailors were distinctly uncomfortable by now. Just as Matthews was about to open his mouth, Jacob Hornblower walked into the kitchen. "Yes, Rose, Captain Pellew did write me about Horatio's injury from the duel. He assured me that it was superficial and was healing well, as indeed, it did."

"You knew!"

"Now, Rose, there was nothing to be gained by telling you. There wasn't a thing that you could have done with him in the Mediterranean and not coming home for months. He was fine after that."

The look on Rosie's face made it perfectly clear what she thought of being kept in the dark regarding this. "Did the lad write you about it, too?"

"Now, you know that he didn't."

She looked from one man to another and then to the third. "As long as I live, I will never understand how you all can be so calm about that lad almost being killed—and not once, but twice."

"Rose, he's chosen his path. He's has found a life in the Navy and is happy with his decision. We should be, also."

"I'll never be happy, knowing that he's in danger. That's twice he's been shot, the next time he won't be so lucky. I feel it in my bones."

"You can't very well keep him wrapped in cotton wool. He's made his choice, whether we approve or not. There's nothing to be gained by second guessing him, Rose."

"Men. I declare, as long as I live, I'll never understand how you can just whistle when your own flesh and blood is..."

"Is what, Rose?"

Startled the four people in the kitchen turned as Horatio slowly made his way through the opened kitchen door.

Rose was used to him, had known him since before he was born and once started wasn't about to be put off. "I said I'll never understand how your own father could let you go off to be shot at—and I'll never, if I live to be a thousand, understand why you went off the way you did. You know as well as I do that you could have done a hundred things that would have let you die an old man in your bed."

"…Of boredom."

Hands on large hips, she wasn't about to be placated. "Safe and well fed. Happy, even. You could marry any of the village girls if you had half a mind, and you're quite aware of that even if you'd rather pretend otherwise."

Horatio gave a small smile. "I've no interest in the village girls, Rose. Nor have they any interest in me."

"Stuff and nonsense."

Dr. Hornblower put his hand on Rose's shoulder. They'd known one another too long for her impropriety to upset or surprise him. "He made his choice, Rose. We both know that and I suspect that his shipmates here would agree it was the right thing for him to do—whatever its outcome may be."

Rosie wiped her eyes on the hem of her apron, her love and fear plain as the now somewhat dripping nose on her face. "It's just that I worry so about you, laddie, you know that."

"'E'll be alright, m'am. You'll see. After this lot, none of the lads will let so much as a fly land on him—you'll see. He'll be right as rain."

Rose smacked him on the top of his head as though he was a small boy in her charge. "Now, Mr. Matthews, you know as well as I do you can't promise me that." Her lined face softened a bit. "But you're a darlin to try." Her eyes shifted to Horatio, worried. "But you won't be leavin for that ship of yours today, now, and that's the truth."

"No, not today." Horatio hid his sadness at the fact while he overcame his own restraint for just the briefest moment, even with the others in the room, to bend and kiss the old woman's cheek. "Soon, but not today."

Hours later with the crewmen gone off to the small barn for the night before heading back to Portsmouth in the morning and Rosie asleep in her own small room, Horatio's father knocked before entering his son's room to change his bandages. The chore was done in silence and after, as he was about to go to his own room, he hesitated and turned back to his son, now in bed.

"If it's not intruding, would you tell me what your Captain had to say?"

"That he hopes I'm feeling better and will rejoin the Indy soon. He mentioned that he'll hold my place for me."

"…That's good news, then."

Horatio nodded. "How long, father? Have you any idea?"

"Less than a month if you eat to build up your strength, I would think."

Horatio smiled. He would eat; he would begin to walk more each day. When Indy was back next time, he'd be ready to join her.

In his own room, the one where his son had been conceived and born; the room where his wife had died, the older man lay sleepless.

1/12/05

10


End file.
